Part 2
For joy, the birds with boulden throats Against his visage sheen 30 Take up their kindly music notes In woods and gardens green.
The dew upon the tender crops, Like pearles white and round, Or like to melted silver drops, 35 Refreshes all the ground.
The misty reek, the clouds of rain From tops of mountains skails, Clear are the highest hills and plain, The vapours take the vales. 40
The ample heaven, of fabric sure, In cleanness does surpass The crystal and the silver pure, Or clearest polished glass.
The time so tranquil is and still, 45 That no where shall ye find, Save on a high and barren hill, The air of peeping wind.
All trees and simples, great and small, That balmy leaf do bear, 50 Than they were painted on a wall, No more they move or steir.
Calm is the deep and purple sea, Yea, smoother than the sand; The waves, that weltering wont to be, 55 Are stable like the land.
So silent is the cessile air, That every cry and call, The hills and dales and forest fair Again repeats them all. 60
The flourishes and fragrant flowers, Through Phœbus’ fostering heat, Refreshed with dew and silver showers, Cast up an odour sweet.
The cloggèd busy humming bees, 65 That never think to drone, On flowers and flourishes of trees, Collect their liquor brown.
The sun, most like a speedy post, With ardent course ascends; 70 The beauty of the heavenly host Up to our zenith tends;
Not guided by a Phaëthon, Not trainèd in a chair, But by the high and holy One, 75 Who does all where empíre.
The burning beams down from his face So fervently can beat, That man and beast now seek a place To save them from the heat. 80
The herds beneath some leafy tree, Amidst the flowers they lie; The stable ships upon the sea Tend up their sails to dry.
With gilded eyes and open wings, 85 The cock his courage shows; With claps of joy his breast he dings, And twenty times he crows.
The dove with whistling wings so blue, The winds can fast collect, 90 Her purple pens turn many a hue Against the sun direct.
Now noon is went; gone is midday, The heat does slake at last, The sun descends down west away, 95 For three o’clock is past.
The rayons of the sun we see Diminish in their strength, The shade of every tower and tree Extended is in length. 100
Great is the calm, for everywhere The wind is setting down, The reek throws right up in the air From every tower and town.
The gloming comes, the day is spent, 105 The sun goes out of sight, And painted is the occident With purple sanguine bright.
The scarlet nor the golden thread, Who would their beauty try, 110 Are nothing like the colour red And beauty of the sky.
Our west horizon circular, From time the sun be set, Is all with rubies, as it were, 115 Or roses red o’erfret.
What pleasure were to walk and see, Endlong a river clear, The perfect form of every tree Within the deep appear. 120
Oh then it were a seemly thing, While all is still and calm, The praise of God to play and sing With cornet and with shalm!
All labourers draw home at even, 125 And can to other say, Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, Which sent this summer day. _Alexander Hume._
IX
_A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY, HOWSOEVER HE BE REWARDED._
Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green, Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice; In temperate heat where he is felt and seen; In presence prest of people, mad or wise; Set me in high, or yet in low degree; 5 In longest night, or in the shortest day; In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be; In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray: Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell, In hill or dale, or in the foaming flood; 10 Thrall, or at large, alive whereso I dwell, Sick or in health, in evil fame or good, Hers will I be; and only with this thought Content myself, although my chance be nought. _Earl of Surrey._
X
_AN APPEAL._
Forget not yet the tried intent Of such a truth as I have meant; My great travail so gladly spent Forget not yet!
Forget not yet when first began 5 The weary life ye know, since whan The suit, the service none tell can; Forget not yet!
Forget not yet the great assays, The cruel wrong, the scornful ways; 10 The painful patience in delays, Forget not yet!
Forget not! oh! forget not this, How long ago hath been, and is The mind that never meant amiss-- 15 Forget not yet!
Forget not then thine own approved, The which so long hath thee so loved, Whose steadfast faith yet never moved-- Forget not this! 20 _Sir Thomas Wyat._
XI
_A RENUNCIATION._
If women could be fair, and yet not fond, Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, I would not marvel that they make men bond By service long to purchase their good will; But when I see how frail those creatures are, 5 I muse that men forget themselves so far.
To mark the choice they make, and how they change, How oft from Phœbus they do flee to Pan; Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range, These gentle birds that fly from man to man; 10 Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list?
Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both, To pass the time when nothing else can please, And train them to our lure with subtle oath, 15 Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease; And then we say when we their fancy try, To play with fools, oh what a fool was I! _Earl of Oxford._
XII
_THE EXCELLENCY OF HIS LOVE._
Give place, ye lovers, here before That spent your boasts and brags in vain: My lady’s beauty passeth more The best of yours, I dare well say’n, Than doth the sun the candle light, 5 Or brightest day the darkest night.
And thereto hath a troth as just As had Penelope the fair; For what she saith, ye may it trust, As it by writing sealèd were; 10 And virtues hath she many mo, Than I with pen have skill to show.
I could rehearse, if that I would, The whole effect of Nature’s plaint, When she had lost the perfect mould, 15 The like to whom she could not paint: With wringing hands how she did cry, And what she said, I know it, I.
I know she swore with raging mind, Her kingdom only set apart, 20 There was no loss by law of kind That could have gone so near her heart; And this was chiefly all her pain: ‘She could not make the like again.’
Sith Nature thus gave her the praise 25 To be the chiefest work she wrought; In faith, methink! some better ways On your behalf might well be sought, Than to compare, as ye have done, To match the candle with the sun. 30 _Earl of Surrey._
XIII
When first mine eyes did view and mark Thy beauty fair for to behold, And when mine ears ’gan first to hark The pleasant words that thou me told, I would as then I had been free 5 From ears to hear, and eyes to see.
And when in mind I did consent To follow thus my fancy’s will, And when my heart did first relent To taste such bait, myself to spill, 10 I would my heart had been as thine, Or else thy heart as soft as mine.
O flatterer false! thou traitor born, What mischief more might thou devise Than thy dear friend to have in scorn, 15 And him to wound in sundry wise; Which still a friend pretends to be, And art not so by proof I see? Fie, fie upon such treachery! _William Hunnis._
XIV
_TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS._
I do confess thou’rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee, Had I not found the slightest prayer That lips could speak, had power to move thee; But I can let thee now alone, 5 As worthy to be loved by none.
I do confess thou’rt sweet, but find Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, Thy favours are but like the wind, That kisses everything it meets: 10 And since thou can with more than one, Thou’rt worthy to be kissed by none.
The morning rose that untouched stands, Armed with her briars, how sweetly smells But, plucked and strained through ruder hands, 15 Her scent no longer with her dwells. But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one.
Such fate ere long will thee betide, When thou hast handled been a while; 20 Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;-- And I will sigh, while some will smile, To see thy love for more than one Hath brought thee to be loved by none. _Sir Robert Aytoun._
XV
_THE SHEPHERDS FAREWELL._
While that the sun with his beams hot Scorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain, Philon the shepherd, late forgot, Sitting beside a crystal fountain, In shadow of a green oak tree 5 Upon his pipe this song playèd he: Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
So long as I was in your sight, 10 I was your heart, your soul, and treasure; And evermore you sobbed and sighed, Burning in flames beyond all measure: Three days endured your love to me, And it was lost in other three! 15 Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
Another shepherd you did see, To whom your heart was soon enchainèd; 20 Full soon your love was leapt from me, Full soon my place he had obtainèd. Soon came a third, your love to win, And we were out, and he was in. Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, 25 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
Sure you have made me passing glad That you your mind so soon removèd, Before that I the leisure had 30 To choose you for my best belovèd: For all your love was past and done Two days before it was begun:-- Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; 35 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. _Anon._
XVI
_SONNET._
Rudely thou wrongest my dear hearts desire, In finding fault with her too portly pride: The thing which I do most in her admire, Is of the world unworthy most envíed; For in those lofty looks is close implied 5 Scorn of base things and sdeign of foul dishonour, Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide, That loosely they ne dare to look upon her. Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour; That boldness innocence bears in her eyes; 10 And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner, Spreads in defiance of all enemies. Was never in this world ought worthy tried, Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride. _Edmund Spenser._
XVII
_SONNET._
Like as a huntsman after weary chace, Seeing the game from him escaped away, Sits down to rest him in some shady place, With panting hounds beguilèd of their prey; So after long pursuit and vain assay, 5 When I all weary had the chace forsook, The gentle deer returned the self-same way, Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook; There she beholding me with milder look, Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide, 10 Till I in hand her yet half trembling took, And with her own good-will her firmly tied; Strange thing meseemed to see a beast so wild So goodly won, with her own will beguiled. _Edmund Spenser._
XVIII
_A VISION UPON THE FAIRY QUEEN._
Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, Within that temple where the vestal flame Was wont to burn; and passing by that way To see that buried dust of living fame, Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept, 5 All suddenly I saw The Fairy Queen: At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept; And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen, For they this Queen attended; in whose stead Oblivion laid him down on Laura’s hearse. 10 Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed, And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce, Where Homer’s spright did tremble all for grief, And cursed the access of that celestial thief. _Sir Walter Raleigh._
XIX
_THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE._
Come live with me, and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, [or] hills and fields, Woods or steepy mountains yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks, 5 Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies, 10 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair-linèd slippers for the cold, 15 With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy-buds, With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love. 20
Thy silver dishes for thy meat, As precious as the gods do eat, Shall, on an ivory table, be Prepared each day for thee and me.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 25 For thy delight each May-morning. If these delights thy mind may move, Come live with me, and be my love. _Christopher Marlowe._
XX
_THE ANSWER._
If all the world and Love were young, And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love,
Time drives the flocks from field to fold, 5 When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold; Then Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields; 10 A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten; 15 In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move, To come to thee, and be thy love. 20
What should we talk of dainties then, Of better meat than’s fit for men? These are but vain: that’s only good Which God hath blessed and sent for food.
But could youth last, and love still breed, 25 Had joys no date, nor age no need; Then those delights my mind might move, To live with thee, and be thy love. _Anon._
XXI
_SAMELA._
Like to Diana in her summer weed, Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, Goes fair Samela; Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed, When washed by Arethusa faint they lie, 5 Is fair Samela; As fair Aurora in her morning grey, Decked with the ruddy glister of her love, Is fair Samela; Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day, 10 Whenas her brightness Neptune’s fancy move, Shines fair Samela; Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory Of fair Samela; 15 Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams, Her brows’ bright arches framed of ebony; Thus fair Samela Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, And Juno in the show of majesty, 20 For she’s Samela: Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view, For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity Yield to Samela. _Robert Greene._
XXII
_SILENT MUSIC._
Rose-cheeked Laura, come! Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty’s Silent music, either other Sweetly gracing.
Lovely forms do flow 5 From concent divinely framed, Heaven is music, and thy beauty’s Birth is heavenly.
These dull notes we sing Discords need for helps to grace them; 10 Only beauty purely loving Knows no discord;
But still moves delight, Like clear springs renewed by flowing, Ever perfect, ever in them-selves eternal. 15 _Thomas Campion._
XXIII
_TRIUMPH OF CHARIS._
See the chariot at hand here of Love, Wherein my lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. As she goes, all hearts do duty 5 Unto her beauty, And enamoured do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side, Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. 10
Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love’s world compriseth! Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love’s star when it riseth! Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother 15 Than words that soothe her! And from her arched brows, such a grace Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good of the elements’ strife. 20
Have you seen but a bright lily grow, Before rude hands have touched it? Have you marked but the fall o’ the snow, Before the soil hath smutched it? Have you felt the wool of the beaver? 25 Or swan’s down ever? Or have smelt o’ the bud of the briar? Or the nard in the fire? Or have tasted the bag o’ the bee? O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she! 30 _Ben Jonson._
XXIV
_A BRIDAL SONG_
Roses, their sharp spines being gone, Not royal in their smells alone, But in their hue; Maiden-pinks, of odour faint; Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, 5 And sweet thyme true;
Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Merry spring-time’s harbinger, With her bells dim; Oxlips in their cradles growing, 10 Marigolds on death-beds blowing, Lark-heels trim;
All, dear Nature’s children sweet, Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet, Blessing their sense! 15 Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious, or bird fair, Be absent hence!
The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor The boding raven, nor chough hoar, 20 Nor chattering pie, May on our bride-house perch or sing, Or with them any discord bring, But from it fly! _Beaumont and Fletcher._
XXV
_SONNET._
You that do search for every purling spring, Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows, And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows Near thereabouts, into your posy wring; You that do dictionaries’ method bring 5 Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows; You that poor Petrarch’s long deceasèd woes With new-born sighs and wit disguisèd sing; You take wrong ways: those far-fetched helps be such As do bewray a want of inward touch: 10 And sure at length stoln goods do come to light. But if (both for your love and skill) your name You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of fame, Stella behold, and then begin to’ endite. _Sir Philip Sidney._
XXVI
_SONNET._
Come Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release, The indifferent Judge between the high and low; With shield of proof shield me from out the prease 5 Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw. Oh! make in me those civil wars to cease; I will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise, and blind of light, 10 A rosy garland, and a weary head: And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me Livelier than elsewhere Stella’s image see. _Sir Philip Sidney._
XXVII
_SONNET._
To yield to those I cannot but disdain, Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts; It is the beauty of the better parts, With which I mind my fancies for to chain. Those that have nought wherewith men’s minds to gain, 5 But only curlèd locks and wanton looks, Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks, Which may well take, but cannot well retain. He that began to yield to the outward grace, And then the treasures of the mind doth prove, 10 He who as ’twere was with the mask in love, What doth he think whenas he sees the face? No doubt being limed by the outward colours so, That inward worth would never let him go. _Earl of Stirling._
XXVIII
_SONNET._
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste; Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 5 For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night, And weep afresh love’s long-since-cancelled woe, And moan the expense of many a vanished sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er 10 The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before:-- But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored, and sorrows end. _William Shakespeare._
XXIX
_SONNET._
From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 5 Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer’s story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; 10 They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you--you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, As with your shadow I with these did play. _William Shakespeare._
XXX
_SONNET._
Oh how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 5 As the perfumèd tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly When summer’s breath their maskèd buds discloses; But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwooed, and unrespected fade; 10 Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth. _William Shakespeare._
XXXI
_SONNET._
A good that never satisfies the mind, A beauty fading like the April flowers, A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined, A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours, A honour that more fickle is than wind, 5 A glory at opinion’s frown that lowers, A treasury which bankrupt time devours, A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind, A vain delight our equals to command, A style of greatness, in effect a dream, 10 A swelling thought of holding sea and land, A servile lot, decked with a pompous name; Are the strange ends we toil for here below, Till wisest death make us our errors know. _William Drummond._
XXXII
_SONNET._